Archangel's Heart

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She was tired.

Not old in years. Just tired. While her vocation called to her as powerfully as it had always done, the reality was a relentless workload that offered little time for the life of study and reflection that she craved.

But this was the life the Lord wished for her and so this was the life she would live.

The worn black fabric of her habit brushed the wooden floor as she walked down the aisle, checking the pews for items left behind by the faithful. Father Pierre was getting on in years so, though he always offered to close up the church, Constance was the one who did it every night. At least she didn’t have to deal with the homeless. Her closest friend in the order, Maria, who was in a house of worship in a more derelict part of town, often had to nudge out those unfortunates.

It made her question her faith on a daily basis.

“Should we not provide sanctuary, Sister Constance?” she’d ask when they gathered at the order’s simple house for their late dinner meal. “And yet I must push them out into the dark and the cold because, elsewise, they defile the church. Why, the other day, I found a vampire feeding from a drug-addled young man right out in the open.”

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